


Letting the Dust Settle

by Cadbberry



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gardens & Gardening, M/M, Moving, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Retirement, Veterans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 12:37:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cadbberry/pseuds/Cadbberry
Summary: Jack has been retired for 4 years after an accident left him partially blind. Just a man and his garden with a few quirky neighbors. But when the vacant house gets purchased, could someone finally pull the veteran out of his shell.





	Letting the Dust Settle

**Author's Note:**

> Its been a while since I have written anything so I apologize for anything wrong with this story. This is inspired by a tweet https://twitter.com/grimdispute made and then I replied to and now this exists... So. Enjoy?

Giving a small grunt, an older man pulled out a clump of weeds from his planter box. As he used his large, scarred, muscular bicep to wipe the sweat dripping down his face, dirt dusted over him, the sun shining down overhead. It was only the afternoon, but the retiree couldn’t help but work on his garden all day if he still had the resilience to hot summer days. It wasn’t until the sound of loud voices next door interrupted his silent workflow.

A pop from his knees announced their revolt to the change in comparison to the past few hours of kneeling next to this one planter box. The home next door had been vacant for months now; good to hear someone finally coming to check on it. The grass was getting tall and unsightly for his tastes, but then again, he was eye line with the fence so most wouldn’t notice. Living in this retirement community meant that homes had a bit of a high turnover rate, but lately fewer people seemed to be coming in. Watching his old war buddies move closer to family or pass away led him to be pretty much alone here. It was always sad to see people leave those gates and know they would never look back. Hopefully, whoever was touring the place would be here for a while, and hopefully wasn’t a dick. His apple tree was so close to bearing the perfect fruit and there was no use for one man and 12 pies. Maybe if they chose to buy, he would have a reason to bake again, be the cliche welcome party.

Another bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. That was the deciding factor: it was enough weeding for one day. He had been out there since 8 AM, and heading back through the slider into the cool ACed house was going to be a godsend.    
  
The moment he stepped through the door, a loud beeping caused him to jolt in panic; he tried to look around for the threat, but his limited vision didn’t allow him that pleasure. “Good afternoon, Mr. Morrison. The time is 1:23 PM and it is 29° C outside.” The AI home assistant, Athena, chimed in.

Placing a hand on his chest, Jack counted the beats to make sure his heart was still functioning. Athena interrupted his attempt to live, “Doctor Ziegler asked me to pass along this message, ‘Jack, Do not forget to take your new SSRI and pain medication, and please stop taking the old ones. Hope to see good results soon.’” With a small glare to the speaker built into the wall, Jack walked to the counter after deeming himself alive enough.

“Can you tell Ang to stop marking everything as important? Gonna give me a heart attack… with that noise.” He mumbled; his voice was hoarse and worn from years of yelling on the battlefield and smoking up a storm from his 40’s to the present day. Jack muttered to himself about the dirt under his nails before going to his day of the week pill container, cracking it open to take the pair of pills, one filled with a golden liquid and the other a chalky blue. 

Out the window of his kitchen, Jack could see an older man on the porch of the next-door neighbors: long silver hair, Latino, a lot of scars, definitely ex-military. Yup, a good time to retire when your hair goes silver. 

The ex-soldier knew he had waited a bit too long, which cost him part of his vision in a terrible accident. It could have been avoided had he taken the retirement plan offered the month before; he supposed that’s what happens when you are stuck in your old ways. Jack was partially blind, large facial scars ran diagonally across his nose and lips, and the rest of him just about matched. The first month out of the service he had reconstructive surgery to fill in a few chunks of his lips that had been taken with that accident, but his face just wasn’t the handsome farm boy anymore. 

Jack’s mind snapped back to the present, watching the older gentleman talk to a realtor and some young kid with a cowboy hat walk back to the two cars: a fancy sedan and a beat-up pick up truck. Watching the cowboy open the door for who Jack could only guess was his father, the old soldier caught sight of the metal arm holding the door for him. Poor kid, service did him in young. 

He pushed off the counter and turned around, “Athena, mind prepping up a movie and crossword for me? Think I could use a nap after rinsing off.” He sighed, not wanting to think on any more old memories for today.  Jack trudged back upstairs to his bedroom, his room meticulously neat. Shoes all in a row, remotes perfectly straight, every clothing item tightly rolled in his dresser, which was all automatic after years in the military. 

His body slowly slumping as Jack shuffled his way towards the on-suite bathroom, sighing as his TV turned on automatically, Athena searching through his library for a new movie to turn on the moment he sat down. Hanging on the back of the bathroom door was a robe, ready to wrap him up after his shower for a cozy nap.   
  
Passing by the mirror, Jack caught a glance of himself. Age had worn him down from the blonde farm boy, was it age or was it war, to a silver-haired grump. After 30+ years in the service, commanding troops and beyond, Jack had done his time. Those corn blue eyes were lost in vibrancy, a cloud overtaking them which also lead to his vision being unreliable. His face was more gaunt than he remembered from the last time he saw himself; it was yesterday, but then again, he didn’t focus much on his looks. No better statement to that than the patchy, prickly beard attempting to grow on his square jaw. Not too many people to impress when you live on your own.

For a man in his 60s, Jack was still rather fit, his shirt tight on his muscular chest, jeans showing he had a rear. If people were willing to look past all of the scars he had from head to toe, maybe he would get the chance to show someone he still got it.

Leaning into the shower, Jack flipped the water onto a lukewarm setting. He stripped and settled into the shower, hoping it would wash off all the stress he had suddenly felt this afternoon.

  
  



End file.
